


Room 342

by NeonDean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Castiel, Professor Dean Winchester, Student Castiel, Sub Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonDean/pseuds/NeonDean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a socially awkward, anxiety-ridden student entering his freshman year of college. He finds himself having difficulties forging new friendships, and has essentially accepted his next four years will be as lonely he'd always feared. However, upon laying eyes on his new history professor, Dean Winchester, he realizes things could be much different than he had ever anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

First day of college classes. Ever.

The mere thought terrified Castiel to the core.

He hadn’t slept in days, thinking of this precise moment, mulling it over constantly in his overworked brain.

As Castiel walked to his first class, he could feel his heart hammering against his chest. His anxiety truly was not letting up on this brisk Monday morning.

Castiel shook his head viciously in an attempt to clear his mind. Sure, he hadn’t made any friends yet and sure, he had completely forgotten how to even go about making new friends, but this whole college thing could be fine. It really could be.

The history building where Castiel’s 8:00 AM class was held came into view. He checked his watch. Ten minutes early. There was no real rush, but Castiel quickened his pace regardless. The sooner he got to class and got it over with, the better he’d feel. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself.

Castiel made his way up the stone steps of the history building and through the wooden doors. While seemingly everyone on campus spent the weekend before classes partying, Castiel spent his time scouting out where each of his classes were. The mere thought of getting lost on his way to class and being late on the first day was enough to make his stomach turn.

Shuffling ahead, Castiel found his history class, Room 342, and opened the door without allowing himself a moment’s hesitation.

He scanned the room quickly, stopping for a moment to check if the professor had arrived yet. No such luck. Castiel sat close to the front of the large lecture hall, setting his backpack on the ground and taking out a notebook. So it begins.

A steady stream of students had begun filtering into the classroom, all heading towards the back of the lecture hall. Castiel stared at the groups of friends walking together, laughing, shoving each other playfully. Why couldn’t he have that? What was he missing?

It wasn’t as if Castiel didn’t want to have friends. He had tried in the past, but they were all interested in doing things he couldn’t bear to even pretend to enjoy. All his life, Castiel was just different. He knew it, he couldn’t help it, but it still hurt.

Castiel’s thoughts halted completely when the lecture hall’s door opened again.

_Holy shit._

The single most beautiful human being Castiel had ever laid eyes on waltzed into the room seemingly without a care, carrying a briefcase and a folder filled with papers.

If Castiel’s heart hadn’t stopped when he first laid eyes on this ethereal being, it certainly stopped with the realization:

_This Godlike creature is our professor._

Oh, my God. Professor Winchester, if he remembered correctly. The professor gazed around the room with an approving look in his emerald green eyes - Sweet Jesus those things were green - and Castiel couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. The entire class was sitting behind him. There was nothing but a couple rows of seats separating himself from this gorgeous man.

Professor Winchester checked the clock briefly, ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, and bent over to look through his briefcase. Castiel’s breath wavered. That ass. His round, perfect ass was framed beautifully by his tight, black dress pants.

Good Lord.

Castiel could barely keep in his seat. He had a valid excuse to stare at this man for two hours every Monday and Wednesday, no questions asked, no confusion, no restraining orders. This semester was going to be good.

Castiel’s gaze was ripped away from the professor’s ass as he turned around, apparently ready to start class.

He waited a couple seconds as a few stragglers filtered through the door. Then, the heavens opened up, and Castiel was introduced for the first time to the marvelous sound of Professor Winchester’s voice.

“Hello students,” the professor’s voice ricocheted off the walls and went straight to Castiel’s already half-hard dick. “as you probably already know, I’m Professor Winchester. Just call me Dean, though. No need for formalities.”

_Dean._

Castiel loved it. He crossed his legs to avoid the first professor he’d ever had seeing him with a boner.

“This is History 101. Basic level history. Whatever you wanna call it.” Dean paced back and forth in front of the room, taking the time to look each student in the eye. “We meet here twice a week, every week. Room 342. Two hours. Any questions?“

The room remained silent.

Dean Winchester had a way about him. His confidence and general ease at having everyone’s attention on him was incredibly intimidating as well as sexy. Castiel bit his lip, forcing himself to focus on the professor’s words.

“If your grade in here falls below a C, I feel morally obligated to tutor you. I offer tutoring sessions Tuesdays and Thursdays anytime between 12 and 5. All the information’s on the syllabus. I haven’t handed that out yet, you’ll notice. I’m working up to it.”

Dean stopped pacing, and stood in the center of the room. He paused for a moment.

“I suppose I should take roll. If I don’t call your name, chances are you’re not supposed to be here. A damn shame.” Dean announced, smirking slightly. “When I call your name, say ‘here.’ None of that ‘present’ crap. You know the drill.”

Castiel’s hands grew unreasonably sweaty. Dean Winchester was going to say his name. He didn’t think he could handle it. Castiel glanced at the door, considering making a run for it before he was subjected to such torture. Perhaps he could email him later, explaining he felt ill and had to leave suddenly. This would not be entirely untrue.

Instead, Castiel stayed rigid, gripping the armrests for support as Dean read out the names one by one.

Castiel stared at Dean’s plump, pink lips as he read each name with the smoothest voice he had ever heard. Every so often, Dean’s tongue would flick out to moisten his lips, an action that would surely bring Castiel to his knees if he weren’t already sitting.

“Adam Milligan,” Dean continued.

“Present!” the boy who Castiel could only assume was Adam called out. Laughter erupted from the class. Castiel turned around to see this boy receiving high-fives from several of his equally douchey-looking friends. Castiel rolled his eyes, irritated. College boys could be so simple-minded.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, locking onto Adam’s face with annoyance. “Nice one, chuckles. Didn’t expect that one at all.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Sorry, professor,” Adam muttered from the back of the room.  
Dean ignored him, continuing to call out names.

Castiel knew his name would be called soon. In less than a minute, he would finally look this beautiful, radiant man in the eye as he said his name. Castiel felt utterly pathetic being as excited as he was, but this was Dean Winchester. Funnily enough, less than an hour ago, that name meant absolutely nothing to him. Now, it was everything.

“Castiel Novak,” Dean called.

Castiel had never loved his name more than he did in that moment. It rolled off of Dean’s tongue like he had said it a million times before. It was nothing short of electrifying.

So electrifying, in fact, Castiel forgot how to speak. He sat there frozen, staring at Dean’s face as his eyes scanned the classroom, searching for this potential no-show.

“Castiel Novak?” Dean repeated, louder this time.

“Here,” Castiel squeaked. “Sorry, professor, I’m here.”

He spoke. His voice cracked several times as if he had hit puberty a week ago, but he spoke.

Dean met his gaze, a crooked smile spreading across his face. Castiel’s heart stopped.

“Castiel,” Dean purred, saying it slowly, as if testing it out. “Never had a student named Castiel before. I like it.”

Dean winked at him, then continued on with roll call as if what he just did hadn’t sent Castiel into something he imagined was akin to cardiac arrest.

Why the hell did Dean have to wink at him? Why did he have to smile at him with that crooked, mischievous grin that stretched up to the barely visible freckles under his eyes? And why the fuck did he have to tell Castiel that he liked his name? This was unbearable. If Dean ever looked at him again his insides would surely collapse, leaving him an unrecognizable puddle on the ground.

“Yup, that’s Castiel,” the authorities would say. “Used to be, anyway. Then he melted. Never seen anything like it.”

Castiel stared at the door again, desperate to get back to his room and relieve the ever growing tension in his pants. He couldn’t focus with Dean mere feet away from him, speaking with that voice of his and taunting Castiel with that face of his. That perfect amount of stubble, those prominent cheekbones, those eyes.

Fantasizing about someone so close to him was something Castiel was not accustomed to. Usually, his daydreams were focused on people he’d seen from afar. None of these people knew his name, nor spent four hours a week in a room with him.

A mere four hours. It wasn’t enough. As badly as Castiel needed to leave right now, he knew he would miss Dean as soon as he left the building. He knew he would use up all his brain power in feeble attempts to accurately recapture Dean’s perfect image in his mind. He knew he would count down the hours until Wednesday at 8:00 AM, and he knew he would be at least twenty minutes early to the class.

Castiel came to the conclusion that his four hours a week with Dean needed to be lengthened. But what could he do? Stalk Dean? Follow his car until he discovered where he lived? But what if he had a wife? Children?

Castiel’s heart ached at the thought. He couldn’t bear to think of Dean holding someone else, loving someone else.

He looked up at Dean again, who was coming to the end of the list of names.

Castiel knew what he had to do.

_If your grade in here falls below a C, I feel morally obligated to tutor you. I offer tutoring sessions Tuesdays and Thursdays anytime between 12 and 5._

These words resonated in his mind, repeating themselves and amplifying to a volume Castiel could not ignore.

Castiel needed to fail History 101.

Castiel needed to be tutored.

Castiel needed to be tutored by Dean Winchester.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester was nothing short of perfect, and Castiel was nothing but a pitiful, horny freshman pining after his history professor.

It had been two weeks since Castiel first laid eyes on Dean Winchester. Ever since then, his mind had become completely and utterly occupied with his image.

Castiel memorized every word Dean said, taking mental pictures every time Dean’s plump lips formed that crooked smile, every time Dean’s piercing eyes met Castiel’s for a brief moment, every time Dean laughed at a ridiculous comment made from the group of students in the back.

Dean Winchester was nothing short of perfect, and Castiel was nothing but a pitiful, horny freshman pining after his history professor.

However, this next class was a big deal for Castiel. Dean would be handing out their first test. Castiel studied harder for this test than he ever had for anything in his life. He needed to do as poorly as possible, needed to start these tutoring sessions as quickly as possible.

Castiel frowned to himself. How do you tutor a history course? It’s not like history had any practical applications like algebra or grammar; it was a simple matter of memorizing facts, a task some students were just better at than others. Castiel happened to be one of those students that, infuriatingly to most, excelled at memorization. Some even might say he had a photographic memory.

His photographic memory was what he knew would get him in a room alone with Dean Winchester, hopefully sooner rather than later. Castiel couldn’t risk not studying and accidentally getting some of the answers right, so he spent most of his time buried in his notes and the History 101 textbook.

Occasionally, his roommate, Gabriel, would saunter into the room, picking a cherry red lollipop out of his bowl of sweets.

“Hey bro, how’s it goin’?” Gabriel would say, voice strained around the lollipop he didn’t bother to remove from his mouth.

“Fine,” Castiel would mumble in return. “Just studying. You?”

The two would continue with pleasant conversation, Gabriel casually throwing in a joke every so often. Eventually, Gabriel would leave, still sucking on that lollipop, and amble right back out the door with a quick, “I’ll see ya, Cassie!”

Castiel had no idea when Gabriel started referring to him as Cassie, but he truly didn’t mind. He liked Gabriel - he was funny and seemed to understand that Castiel needed his time alone. In all honesty, he couldn’t have asked for a better roommate.

So, as he did every Monday and Wednesday morning, he laid awake two hours before his alarm would go off, staring intently at the popcorn ceiling of his dorm room. Of course, all he could think about was Dean. All he wanted to think about was Dean. Nothing else mattered, at least not anymore.

Castiel found his hand absentmindedly sliding down the covers.

His mind filled itself with Dean’s emerald green eyes that shone with passion and mischief every time he got on a roll talking through his lectures.

Castiel’s hand reached his swollen dick, straining against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be touched.

Dean’s perfectly shaped lips that he moistened with that pink, shiny tongue every few minutes.

Castiel’s hand began to grind against his cock, a moan escaping his mouth as he did so. His boxers were becoming damp at an alarmingly fast rate.

Dean’s-

A knock at the door interrupted Castiel’s thoughts. Fuck. His hand retreated quickly from under the covers and he sat up, laying his hands innocently over his lap.

He cleared his throat. “Um? Who is it?”

“Sorry, bro,” Gabriel’s unmistakable voice sounded through the door. “Is your printer working? Mine went caput just when I needed it.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Castiel reassured him. “Come in.”

Gabriel pushed the door open, an apologetic expression plain on his face. “Really shitty timing, I know. That’s what I get for procrastinating,” he laughed weakly.

Castiel shrugged. “S’fine. Printer’s right over there. Just plug your laptop in and it should work okay.”

“You’re a godsend, Cassie,” Gabriel replied, shuffling over to the printer and plugging it in. Castiel smiled to himself, amused by Gabriel’s antics.

Nothing like an early morning printer emergency to kill a hot-professor-induced erection. His dick had completely calmed down since becoming distracted by his outlandish roommate.

______________________________________________________________

  
Without even realizing it, Castiel had fallen asleep. Somewhere in the midst of watching Gabriel curse at his laptop for loading too slowly and hearing him throw hushed apologies in Castiel’s general direction, Castiel’s consciousness had drifted. Now, he was loudly being awakened by the obnoxious, all too familiar sound of his alarm.

Castiel lazily slapped the off button, throwing his other arm over his forehead with a sigh. Today was test day. Today was the day he would, for the first time in his life, try his damndest to fail a test. All for Dean Winchester.

Castiel dressed smartly, attempting to possibly catch Dean’s eye when he entered the classroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. Why would someone like Dean Winchester waste his time on someone like Castiel? He was as plain as could be, and more awkward than anyone could bear to watch.

Castiel smoothed his hands over his ocean blue sweater, marvelling at how soft the material felt under his fingertips. This was his favorite sweater; he knew it brought out his eyes in a way that none of his other clothes could. Perhaps this really would catch Dean’s eye.

Giving himself a final once over in the mirror, Castiel left his room, carefully slinging his backpack over his shoulder in the process.

The walk to class was quiet. He always left too early, eager to get to his 8:00 AM. Eager to see Dean.

As the history building came into view, Castiel recited the information he had spent hours studying in his brain, certain he knew enough to successfully fail. Assuming the test was multiple choice, all Castiel had to do was bubble in one of the few wrong answers presented. He would be done in a flash.

Castiel strode into the building, a newfound confidence in his step, and opened the door leading into Room 342.

A handful of students had arrived before Castiel, apparently just as anxious to start the test as he was.

And there, sitting in the front of the room behind his desk, was Dean. The object of his wet dreams. The reason for that incredibly annoying, incredibly frequent strain in his pants. Son of a bitch.

Dean looked up from what he was writing, regarding Castiel with a warm smile. “Came early, I see. Ready to start?”

Dean had just asked him a question. Dean had just smiled at him. Why had the room suddenly started spinning?

Castiel swallowed. “Yes, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Dean pulled a test from the top of the stack, handing it to Castiel. “Good luck.”

Castiel simply nodded in response, not trusting himself to form another coherent sentence. He grabbed the test, avoiding Dean’s intense stare as he did so, and scrambled awkwardly to his seat.

As he took out a pencil and began skimming through the test, Castiel could feel Dean still looking at him. His cheeks burned, mind crippling under the unexpected attention. How could he focus on doing not-well with Dean staring at him like that?

Castiel forced himself to read the questions in front of him.

It started out relatively straightforward with multiple choice questions regarding World War II. He knew that stuff. He could easily pick a wrong answer.

More students began to file through the door, each picking up a test as they made their way to what had become their regular seat. The constant pitter-patter of their feet against the floor was incredibly distracting, but what could Castiel do? Tell them to stop moving? He pressed on, attempting to filter out the footsteps as white noise.

An hour came and went quicker than Castiel swore it ever had. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he concentrated. This was a long fucking test.

To make matters worse, several of the questions were open-ended, forcing Castiel to come up with a response that was ridiculous enough to be marked as wrong, but not so ridiculous that it seemed like he was mocking the course. Since when had failing a test become so difficult?

Students began to finish, walking up to Dean’s desk and plopping it down as they left. Castiel’s heart accelerated rapidly. He wasn’t even close to being done. Surely these students skipped questions.

More and more students finished and left, eventually leaving Castiel with just two other students in the room and, of course, Dean.

“Fifteen minutes,” Dean announced suddenly.

_Fuck._

Castiel had definitely not been taking this test for almost two hours. There was absolutely no way. Dean must have made a mistake. Glancing up at the clock in the hopes of confirming his suspicion, Castiel was left mortified and appalled. There really were only fifteen minutes left, a number that was rapidly declining by the second.

Just a few more questions left. He could do this. All he needed to do was churn out about ten more bullshit sentences and he would be out the door, mission accomplished. Everything would be-

The two remaining students finished seemingly in unison, grabbing their bags and heading to the front to drop off their completed tests. 

And, just like that, Dean and Castiel were alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel would never get tired of looking at Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for taking so long with this chapter. It's been a hectic few weeks, but things are pretty much back to normal. Hopefully my updates will be more regular now!  
> Enjoy :)

Castiel swallowed thickly, his hands shaking so hard he could barely write. He gripped his pencil tightly, fingers turning white with the tension, and wrote as fast as he could.

Suddenly, Castiel stopped. Why was he rushing? This is what he wanted, after all. This was the point of studying so hard and picking every wrong answer. His goal in all of this was to be alone with Dean. However, now that he was, he wanted more than anything to be out the door.

Doubts crept into his mind. Everything was a waste. Now that he was actually alone with Dean, anxiety filled his brain and overflowed, taking control of his entire body, possessing him. In short, Castiel was a mess.

To make matters worse, he could feel Dean’s stare again, sending heat to his cheeks at an alarming rate. Clearly being alone in a room with Dean was not going to work for him - it was simply too overwhelming. That’s fine. He could just turn this in and do better on the tests after th-

“Castiel, isn’t it?” Dean’s voice interrupted his thoughts, turning his mind completely blank.

He hesitantly met Dean’s eyes. “Uh, yeah?”

Dean’s crooked smile that Castiel’s heart flutter lit up his face. “That a family name or somethin’? Never met anyone with a name like that before. It’s nice.”

Dean really needed to stop complimenting him. He needed to stop being nice to him altogether. It was hard enough to function being in the same room with this ridiculously attractive man, and making conversation only made the situation worse.

“No,” Castiel responded shakily. “I mean, I don’t think so? Maybe. It could be. Actually, um, I-I-”

Suddenly, Dean stood, the friendly smile on his face morphing into a mischievous one. Keeping their eyes locked, Dean began to walk towards Castiel slowly, a playful glint in his eye.

At this point, Castiel thought he was going to collapse. With each step Dean took, he could feel his heart pounding steadily faster against his chest, almost as if it were begging to escape the confines of his ribcage. To make matters worse, he could feel his dick hardening in response to Dean’s sudden attention, forcing Castiel to cross his legs tightly.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared completely at ease, casually moving through the row of seats in front of Castiel before leaning against the chair right below his, putting the two at eye level. Dean was much closer than he had ever been before. Castiel breathed heavily, taking in Dean’s scent of evergreen and whiskey. It was nothing short of intoxicating.

Dean looked him over once before finally speaking. “You’re stuttering. I make you nervous, Cas?”

_Cas._

Castiel marvelled at how his new nickname sounded on Dean’s voice. He was so tantalizingly close, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s undoubtedly dilated ones. Now that he was this close, Castiel could better make out the smattering of freckles under Dean’s eyes, the way his lips perfectly bowed, the way his nose was slightly crooked in a way that Castiel found adorable. Castiel would never get tired of looking at Dean Winchester.

Castiel then realized he had failed to respond to Dean’s question. His oh-so-obvious question. “Um, I don’t know how to- I mean, I just-”

Dean smirked, leaning forwards so his hands rested on Castiel’s desk. He leaned even closer, so close Castiel could feel his warm breath on his face, could see the flecks of yellow in his startlingly green eyes. Certainly he would not survive this.

Dean looked Castiel over, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Dean purred, returning to his former position slightly further away from Castiel.

Castiel certainly wasn’t going to deny this totally correct analysis. However, he doubted he could say anything at this point. It almost seemed as if Dean was… flirting with him? Surely not. Surely Dean was just annoyed at Castiel for taking so long on his test, and was using a scare tactic to get him to leave. But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t let Dean see the tent in his pants, his dick straining against the fabric. He couldn’t let Dean see how affected he was by his presence. That would be far too humiliating; he’d have to drop out of the class, drop out of the university.

“You good with the test? Need any help?” Dean’s voice interrupted Castiel’s escape plan.

He had almost forgotten about the test entirely. Having Dean so close made everything else around him seem insignificant, hardly worth noticing.

“I-I’m done, actually,” Castiel stammered, thrusting his test into Dean’s hands. “Sorry.”

A surprised look played across Dean’s face, quickly replaced by a look Castiel couldn’t place - was it pity?

Castiel actually was not finished with his test, but at this point, he knew it was useless to try and continue. He knew he had failed, so why not just hand in a test with a few questions blank? That would certainly further his case of being a confused freshman with virtually no understanding of history.

“No need to be sorry, Cas,” Dean reassured him, glancing quickly over the test. “I kinda wanted to get you alone anyways. To ask about your name, of course.”

Dean was grinning again, that borderline feral look in his eye. Castiel felt like a deer in headlights. He had no idea how to respond.

_Dean wanted me alone just to ask a silly question about my name?_

It almost sounded funny in his head. If he weren’t so completely bewildered and overcome with arousal, he might have laughed. Who the fuck cares about his name? Yes, it was strange, but certainly not worth having a discussion about. Something else about him must have really intrigued Dean. But why? Castiel couldn’t fathom a scenario in which his feelings for Dean were reciprocated, but that was the only explanation that made sense.

He stowed the idea away for another time.

Apparently put off by the way Castiel spend the majority of his time in his own head, Dean began to walk away, staring down at Castiel’s test.

This was his cue to leave. It was much easier to focus when Dean’s eyes weren’t boring into his own.

Castiel leaned over in his seat, quickly unzipping his backpack to throw his pencil in. He clamored out of his seat and folded his hands over his abnormally rigid crotch, not overly eager to have a conversation with Dean as to why taking a history test gave him a boner. However, since Dean was a history professor, perhaps he could relate.

Making sure Dean’s back was turned, Castiel made a run for the door and closed it behind him.

Before it closed fully, he could hear Dean’s voice say, “I’ll see you soon, Cas.”

With that slightly ominous yet indisputably sexy statement, Castiel was free. That was the most stressful two hours of his life. He had indeed taken all the available class time to fail Dean’s test.

________________________

Once Castiel made it back to his dorm, he was pleased to find it empty. He desperately needed to take care of this tent in his pants before he exploded all over himself in a very disgusting and messy manner.

After grabbing the first sock he saw, it only took a few pumps before Castiel was gasping, emptying his load into the article of clothing meant for feet, not bodily fluids. At least he didn’t have to clean up much.

The effect Dean had on Castiel was so intense that it was actually kind of gross. He wanted to talk about Dean all the time, but to who? Gabriel? Gabriel wouldn’t be even slightly interested in his crush on the unbelievably hot history professor, but even if he were, the two rarely saw each other. Now that he thought of it, their lack of contact was a bit strange considering they shared the dorm room.

Castiel took a moment to think, staring at the ceiling above his bed. The way Dean had talked to him earlier made it clear that Dean found him interesting at the very least. He could work with interesting. Perhaps he could even trick Dean into confusing his fascination with adoration.

Castiel scoffed a bit at the thought, shaking his head. Dean didn’t really strike him as the kind of guy who “adored” his partner. He seemed more like a whip-you-in-bed-fuck-you-from-behind kind of guy, not a dinner-date-with-candles-and-romantic-music one. Castiel could easily be wrong, but he didn’t tend to be.

Then there was the matter of whether or not Dean was even interested in men. This was Castiel’s biggest concern. Dean gave off the impression that he was a macho manly man who drank gasoline and went to strip clubs and drove a pickup truck with a very hetero porn collection he kept hidden under the seats. Then again, of course, Castiel could easily be wrong.

When he wasn’t preoccupied with studying or eating or digesting, Castiel spent all his spare time thinking about what it would be like to date Dean. He wanted to know the kind of clothes Dean liked to wear outside of the classroom. He wanted to know if Dean liked going to parties or if he was a more reserved guy. He wanted to know the way Dean’s soft, pink lips would feel against his own. He wanted to know how he was in bed. He wanted to know how it would feel to open up for Dean, to feel Dean’s dick enter his-

_Oh shit._

Castiel really needed to stop fantasizing before his dick got any harder. Being this infatuated with someone was exceedingly difficult. Sure, Castiel had had crushes in the past and even a boyfriend, but he had never felt anything this intense in his life. He wouldn’t go as far as to call it love, but it was undeniably an overwhelming feeling.

He got up from the bed and strode over to his desk, opening his laptop as he sat back down. Castiel opened the web browser and clicked on his email, curious if any of his classes had been cancelled.

When the page loaded, Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. He had one email.

 

To: cnovak2Y5@tamu.edu  
From: dwinchester@tamu.edu

Cas.  
We need to talk.  
Come to 4662 Oak Lane at 7PM tonight.  
Text “poughkeepsie” to 785-555-0128 if okay.

-Dean


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get a bit spicy.  
> Leave a comment! Let me know what you think friends

A mess was the only word that could properly describe Castiel after reading Dean’s email.

His brain was going a mile a minute, considering every possible scenario that would possess Dean to invite Castiel over - that is what was happening, wasn’t it?

Castiel had checked. 4662 Oak Lane was not a location on campus. It was not Dean’s office, it was not anyone’s office. It was a house. A motherfucking actual house that had to belong to Dean Winchester. Who else could it belong to?

Were their tutoring sessions starting already? Castiel tossed the idea aside practically before he had even finished thinking it. No. The syllabus said that any tutoring sessions would be held in Dean’s office, _not_ Dean’s fucking house. That’s the theory Castiel was going with. Oak Lane definitely contained Dean’s house.

So what the hell was going to happen? Would Dean try to murder him? _Jesus Christ, how morbid._ Dean probably did not send Castiel an invitation to his home to brutally murder him. Dean certainly did not come off as a sociopath.

Was Dean asking him out on a date then? Professor/student relationships were definitely frowned upon, so Dean would likely choose a more private location if this was actually a date. One’s own house is about as private as it gets.

Castiel shivered, the thought of being alone with Dean in Dean’s house sending an electric jolt down his spine. How was he expected to act calm and relaxed in that situation?

_He imagined walking up to Dean’s house and knocking on the door. He would hear Dean’s footsteps approaching, a faint pitter-pattering along the wood floor like that of a tap dance recital. Dean would open the door, that beautiful face of his practically blinding Castiel as he slowly lowered his hand from its former knocking position. Dean would say something witty and charming, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to hear it. All he could focus on was the ground as it came closer and closer to his face, seemingly in slow-motion. His face would smack on the concrete step leading up to Dean’s door, and that would be it. Dean would be so disgusted by Castiel’s fainting and his bloodied face that he would slam the door, scoffing at the mere notion that he’d ever invited such a horrendous creature to his house. Castiel would be left there by himself for hours, bloody and unconscious, until the police finally came to his rescue. That would be the end of Castiel’s pining and obsessing over Professor Dean Winchester._

Okay, this daydreaming was not helping at all. Castiel had never fainted in his life, and if he managed not to faint when he first saw Dean, he could do the same tonight. No matter what, he couldn’t screw this up.

The first step to not screwing up, as it so happened, was probably ensuring that this night would involve Dean at all. He still needed to text that number, which Castiel could only assume was Dean’s, and confirm he was going to that mysterious location at 7PM.

Castiel picked up his phone and typed.

**To: 785-555-0128**

**Poughkeepsie.**

Hands shaking, he hit send. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. If he was, he had already made a list of potential colleges nearby he could transfer to. However, his gut told him this was only a precaution, not a necessity.

His phone lit up with a new text. Castiel gulped, then lifted the phone to his face.

**From: 785-555-0128**

**See you then, Cas.**

_Cas._ He guessed correctly. This was definitely Dean. He added him as a contact on his phone. Almost immediately after, he received another text notification.

**From: Dean**

**Dress nice.**

Ah, excellent. All Castiel needed to make this night perfect was even more anxiety in this already terrifying situation.

Castiel checked the time on his phone. 11:46 AM. He had roughly seven hours to get all ready and drive to Dean’s house. To any level headed human being, this would be absolutely fine. On a normal day, it wouldn’t even take Castiel thirty minutes to get ready. However, on this day, Castiel needed roughly twenty two hours to even wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to Dean’s house, and by the sound of his texts, for a fancy date. But all he had was seven hours, a number that was declining by the second, so he would have to make do.

 

__________________

 

6:22 PM. The past six hours had been the longest of Castiel’s life. He’d had no idea what to do with himself. He spent some time practicing what to say to Dean in every possible scenario. He had stared in the mirror and decided which facial expressions he definitely should not use. He had changed outfits at least 20 times. He could barely even figure out what shoes he wanted to wear. Castiel had never been this stressed about anything in his entire life.

According to Google Maps, 4662 Oak Lane was exactly seventeen minutes away from his dorm. Luckily, he had been able to score a parking spot on campus, so he did not have to worry about getting a ride. Accounting for the inevitable few minutes he would spend driving around being lost, he allowed himself twenty minutes to arrive at Dean’s house. There was no way he could be late.

Castiel gave himself a final once over in the mirror, forcing himself to breathe steadily as he did so. The outfit he had chosen was an ocean blue dress shirt that complimented his eyes nicely, black dress pants, and black shoes. It was simple, but he thought he looked nice enough. All that mattered was that he looked good enough for Dean.

So, with a deep breath, Castiel grabbed his keys and left his room, trying not to focus on how badly his hands shook.

 

__________________

 

Traffic, of course, had been absolutely horrendous. Castiel never thought of himself as someone who was prone to road rage, but he had to stop himself multiple times from rear ending some jackass who decided it was acceptable to cut him off. But then, he would remember where he was going and who he was seeing, and the anger in his gut was replaced with anxiety once more.

However, he was almost there. Castiel’s heart jumped in his chest as the little green sign marked Oak Lane came into his field of vision.

This was the biggest risk he had ever taken. While he was in his dorm, he spent some time thinking long and hard about what exactly he hoped would happen at Dean’s house. He wondered how he would handle it if Dean didn’t comply.

What if this really was a tutoring session? What if Dean’s office was being renovated or something, and the only available space he had as a result was his own house? Castiel decided it was best to bring his notes just in case this happened.

How utterly and completely humiliating that would be. To get dressed up, and spend hours planning and fantasizing about what could happen, just to be promptly let down by the man he wanted the most. He would probably die from the horror of it.

Castiel turned into Oak Lane, keeping his eyes peeled for 4662. He really hated going places for the first time, and it was already 6:57 PM. There was no way he could waste any more time with doing something stupid like passing Dean’s house and turning around to find it.

Then, after some time, the house came into view. On a black mailbox, “4662” was written in white lettering across the side. Finally, _finally,_ he reached his destination. But Castiel knew this was no time to be relieved; arriving at Dean’s house was only the beginning.

6.58 PM. Castiel put the car in park and removed his key from the ignition, stowing them in his pocket as he climbed out of the driver’s seat. He stopped for a moment to admire the house.

Dean’s house was lined in the front with perfectly trimmed white rose bushes, giving the house a warm feel. His house was made almost entirely of stone with black panels on either side of every window. Immediately, Castiel felt more comfortable.

Counting to five in his head as he breathed, he placed one foot in front of the other, and made his way towards the large wooden door of Dean’s house.

Once he reached the door, he glanced at his watch. 7:00 PM on the dot. Punctuality was definitely one of Castiel’s best traits.

He raised his fist to the door and, not allowing himself a moment’s hesitation, he knocked. Lowering his closed hand to his side, Castiel waited. Although there were no real clocks within hearing distance, he felt like each following second ticked in his head, deafening. His brain pounded against his skull rhythmically, mockingly, every thought he’d had in the last seven hours jumbling together suddenly in a horrific mess. This was far, far too much for Castiel. Maybe if he just-

Castiel heard the sound of locks being undone behind the door, bringing his worries to a halt. This was it.

The door opened, and Castiel swore he heard a church choir sing “hallelujah” as it did so. Dean Winchester looked nothing short of absolutely fucking radiant. Castiel felt his legs turn to jello, and he tried not to think of that horrific daydream from earlier today. _Just focus on Dean._

“Hey, Cas.”

Dean was wearing a maroon, long-sleeved button up shirt rolled up to his elbows with a black undershirt that complimented his lean frame beautifully. With that, he wore grey jeans with faded hiking boots and a little necklace with an odd-looking brass face.

Castiel was so overcome with desire he almost ran back to his car and drove home just as a means to control himself. However, his shock rooted his feet to the ground. He could not move. He could not speak. He wasn’t even totally sure he was breathing.

Dean grinned, seeming to sense Castiel’s nervousness. “You wanna come in, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

Castiel coughed, a noise that sounded far more strangled than he intended. “Sure, um, thanks.”

Dean pushed his back against the door, opening it just enough for Castiel to shimmy past. He tried to ignore the feeling of Dean’s body brushing against his own as he did so. Did Dean really have to be so close? Surely he could have opened the door more.

After Castiel was a safe distance away from him, Dean closed the door behind them. Dean eyed Castiel, a look of approval in his eye. “I see you dressed nice.”

“What, this?” Castiel regarded his own clothing, pretending as if he hadn’t spent the majority of the day picking it out. “It’s nothing, really.”

Dean took a step closer, raking his eyes over Castiel’s figure in a way that would have made him uncomfortable if he hadn’t done the same to Dean on multiple occasions.

“S’good,” Dean praised. “you follow my directions. That’ll be important for later.”

Before Castiel could ask what he meant, Dean was striding into another room. Castiel tried to focus on anything but how good his ass looked in those jeans. But, of course, he failed.

Wait a minute.

Dean wasn’t dressed nicely. Not to say he didn’t look good by any means, but his clothes couldn’t be considered anything but casual. Why did Dean need him to dress nicely if he wasn’t going to do the same?

Castiel shook his head, chastising himself for overthinking everything. All he needed to do was follow whatever Dean did. So, without wasting another second, he followed Dean into the room.

The room Dean had lead him to was a living room with high ceilings and a mini bar off in the corner. In the middle, there were two leather couches facing a flatscreen television that was mounted on the wall opposite the mini bar.

Dean stood in the corner of the room with the mini bar, leaning against a small counter. In front of the counter were two bar stools, one of which Dean was beckoning him to.

Castiel walked over hesitantly and sat in the barstool next to Dean, who was pouring two glasses of a liquid he could only assume was alcohol.

“You like whiskey?” Dean asked, glancing up at Castiel as he poured.

Castiel hesitated. He hated whiskey. Aside from that, he was only eighteen. Was this a test? If he accepted the whiskey, would Dean report him? _Dammit Castiel, stop overthinking._

“Uh, professor,” Castiel started. “I’m not twenty one yet. I shouldn’t-”

“It’ll be our little secret then, won’t it, Cas?” Dean winked, sliding a glass over with a playful look in his eyes. “Also, just call me Dean.”

Castiel couldn’t speak. His dick twitched in his pants, something he was really hoping to avoid this early in their “date.” He figured it was safe to call it that by now.

Instead of arguing, he took the whiskey. Just to please Dean, he even took a sip, trying his damndest not to wince at the bitter flavor. Dean probably could have asked him if he wished to have his next drink served in the skull of a newborn baby and he would jump at the opportunity. Anything to please Dean Winchester.

“So, Cas,” Dean began, leaning forward slightly. “you’re probably wondering why I invited you over, right?”

Castiel nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He took another swig of his drink, figuring it might help to calm his nerves.

Dean took a sip of his drink as well, and Castiel tried to avoid staring at the way Dean’s mouth looked wrapped around the edge of the glass, the way he licked his lips when he finished drinking… Okay, yeah, he was definitely hard now. Castiel folded his hands over his crotch so as to avoid any awkward conversation.

“I invited you here because, well, I have a theory.” Dean explained. “See, I’m a fairly new professor, but I’ve still graded a lot of tests. It’s not all that fun. Just the same thing over and over, the same bullshit answers I have to mark wrong. But then…”

Dean smirked and tilted his head back, finishing off his whiskey. “But then I get your test. And you know what? All your answers are wrong. Every single one. So I think to myself a bit. You never struck me as a dumbass. That Adam kid? He didn’t do too hot either, but he got some of ‘em right. You, on the other hand, managed to get a zero.”

Castiel shook, utterly terrified at where this conversation appeared to be heading. Was Dean mad at him? Did he invite him over just to shout at him and kick him out? He felt like he was about to cry.

Dean continued. “So, I’m thinking, and then I have a crazy idea. I remembered the first day of class tellin’ everyone about tutoring, and how I just so happened to be looking at you right at that moment. And you know what, Cas?” Dean bit his lip, the smirk returning. “You lit up like a fuckin’ Christmas tree.”

Castiel froze. _Dean knew._ When Dean graded those tests, he had figured it out. Dean knew how desperately he wanted time alone with him. He hadn’t invited Castiel over to shout at him for getting a zero, he had invited him over to give him what he wanted. Or, at least, to show him that he knew what he wanted.

How was he supposed to respond?

Before he could register what was happening, Castiel saw Dean leaning forward until his lips were right up against his ear. “If you wanted time alone with me,” Dean purred, lips brushing against Castiel’s earlobe as he spoke, “you coulda just asked.”

Of course, when he shouldn’t say a word, Castiel couldn’t stop speaking. “But I- you’re- I don’t know I just- I didn’t know-”

Any train of thought was interrupted by the sensation of soft lips kissing along his jawline. Castiel moaned in spite of himself, reveling at the feeling of Dean’s lips against his skin.

Dean continued his trail of kisses towards Castiel’s mouth, sucking and biting along the way. Occasionally he would stop to run his tongue over the bites, soothing the skin as bruises inevitably formed.

“Fuck! Dean-” Castiel cried, completely overcome with pleasure. This was it. This was everything he had wanted since he first laid eyes on Dean. This was everything he had fantasized about until he was left in his own hot sticky mess.

“Cas,” Dean breathed against his skin. “You know how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this? Ever since I saw you, it took everything I had not to fuck you long and hard against my desk until you screamed my name. You gonna do that tonight, baby? You gonna do that for me?”

Castiel moaned again, a loud and obscene noise, and it was all he could do not to come in his pants right then and there.

Suddenly, Dean stopped, his lips mere centimeters from Castiel’s. He could feel Dean’s hot breath against his mouth.

Castiel opened his eyes, confused as to why Dean had stopped. When he saw what was in front of him, his breath hitched in his throat.

Green.

Dean’s gorgeous, emerald green eyes were gazing into his own with such an intensity he thought he might pass out.

Before he could do anything, Dean leaned back slightly, an inquisitive look passing over that beautiful face.

“Now, Cas,” Dean said, his voice noticeably changing tone. “I mentioned earlier somethin’ about you following my directions. You gonna be able to do that?”

Castiel nodded vigorously, not wanting to disappoint this gorgeous man in front of him that was somehow at least mildly interested in doing more with him than just sipping whiskey.

“Good boy.”

Dean leaned forward and closed the space between them, pressing their lips together, hard.

Now, Castiel had heard the term “seeing stars” before, but he never truly had ever seen them before this precise moment. Dean’s ever so soft lips moved with his in perfect synchronization, and Castiel’s heart fluttered in his chest.

Castiel had never in his life been so consumed with bliss.


End file.
